


Bittersweet

by AWammysHouseDropout



Category: Naruto
Genre: Babies, Child Death, Children, Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Fugaku is a good Dad, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Married Couple, Mikoto is a good Mom, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Sad Ending, Stillbirth, They're doing their best damn it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWammysHouseDropout/pseuds/AWammysHouseDropout
Summary: They can endure anything, he thought, so long as they endure it together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot commit to the fics I already have, and apparently must add MOAR fics to my growing collection.
> 
> This is gonna be basically a compilation of ideas I have about Fugaku and Mikoto, random headcanons, and sad things. I apologize in advance for any feels.

When they are first married, she is seventeen and he is twenty-two. 

They were matched up by their parents, but neither of them particularly mind. They knew- even at their omiai, three years ago, that they were suited to each other. And _he_ knew, has known for a long time, that he's hopelessly in love with this beautiful young woman.  


The priest asks the gods’ blessing on their marriage. He reads their vow before the altar- his voice is a bit nervous, unsteady, but he carries relentlessly forward. They offer tamagushi, drink the ceremonial sake. 

She looks over at him and smiles, as pretty and perfect as a porcelain doll.

(Those looks are deceiving, he’s well aware. She’s a kunoichi, after all- and a good one at that. Those delicate looks belie a cast iron, unbreakable core.)

She takes his hand in both of hers, and kisses him. 

Uchiha Fugaku is twenty-two years old, and Uchiha Mikoto is seventeen. Uchiha Fugaku is tentative when he kisses her. Uchiha Mikoto is bold.

(Fugaku had wanted to wait a bit longer before they got married. Her parents didn’t see the point in waiting  _ (“We’re at war, there’s no guarantee of tomorrow-”),  _ and Mikoto had agreed with them. Because Mikoto is a firebrand, and isn’t fond of waiting.

Mikoto’s smile is like sunlight, illuminating the world around her. When Fugaku smiles as well, he is like the moon- reflecting some fraction of her radiance.

 

* * *

 

As tends to happen with young married couples, after some time, Mikoto becomes pregnant.

She’s eighteen, and he’s nearly twenty-three.

His stomach does a backflip when she tells him the news, his heart seizing up in a vice.

She throws her arms around him, murmuring things like  _ “isn’t it wonderful?”  _ against his ear. He manages to nod, desperately trying to figure out why his first reaction to this news is fear.

(Internally, he berates himself for this fear, this weakness. He is Uchiha. Wicked-eye Uchiha Fugaku, a jounin and a member of the Konoha military police. That he should be afraid at happy news is laughable at  _ best. _ )

He forces himself to smile. Hugs her back and kisses her hand. Mikoto is whispering soft nothings about baby names and nursery wallpaper, and, eventually, that fear starts to recede like the tide at the shoreline.

A child. They’re going to have a child. A piece of him and her for them to raise and love together. After endless years of tearing lives down around him, finally,  _ finally,  _ Fugaku will be able to say that he’s  _ created  _ something.

(He’s known that he’s wanted a child, since he was still a child himself. That he might be granted this wish is more than he could have ever dreamed.)

Fear gives way to an overpowering, overwhelming joy.

He lays his hands over the flat plane of her middle, beaming with pride. Reflecting back the joy in his young wife’s face, like the moon reflects the sun.  


 

* * *

Mikoto has stopped taking missions, trading in her kunai and senbon for knitting needles with which she knits hats and blankets and little baby socks with the soft, colorful yarn Fugaku buys for her. She prepares bento when he leaves the house, and has a hot meal ready for him when he returns.

Fugaku had worried she might become restless away from the battlefield, but she is as content as a nesting bird. Despite the constant nausea, the dizziness, and the ache that leaves her constantly tired- Mikoto is elated. She always has a smile for him when he comes through the door, diffusing happiness like sunlight through the trees around their home.

How fragile happiness truly is.

He knows something is horribly wrong the instant he steps into their little house. He is not greeted by his wife’s smiling face, and rather than the smell of dinner, the faint copper scent of blood hangs in the air.

Ninjato in hand, Fugaku steps forward.

“Mikoto?”

...A faint sob.

“Mikoto!”

The smell of blood grows stronger the deeper into the house he goes.

Clouds of steam and the sound of the shower emanate from the bathroom.

“Mikoto,” he says, one last time, before daring to enter.

Mikoto is flat on her back in the shower, hands over her face, trembling. A sickening trail of blood flows from between her legs to fall in a sickening spiral down the drain.

She peers through her fingers up at her husband, eyes bloodshot and face flushed.

“...I’m sorry,” she chokes.

Fugaku moves mechanically, a cold numbness gripping his insides. 

Heedless of the spray of scalding hot water, of his clothes which will now surely be soaked through,  he kneels down in the shower and gathers her into his arms. She grabs his shoulders tight enough to bruise, and wails helplessly against his neck. He can feel her entire body trembling as she sobs.

He knows he should say something, but his words fail him in this moment. So he just holds her there, silently, and lets her cry her heart out.

They stay like this until the water runs cold, and the blood dies down to something less alarming. Only then does Fugaku reach for the handle and turn the shower off. Still saying nothing, he wraps Mikoto in a towel, and carries her to their bedroom. Changes out of soaking wet clothes in stiff, mechanical motions.

The numbness eats up everything inside him until there’s nothing left of feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Mikoto sobs again, her voice hoarse and painful.

“...Don’t apologize,” Fugaku mutters, not sure what else to say.

 

* * *

They leave a little statue at the shrine of Jizo, adorned with one of the little baby hats Mikoto had so lovingly knitted for their child that would never be. 

Fugaku’s parents had been heartbroken at the news, and Mikoto’s mother wept and held her for a long time. But Mikoto’s eyes seem to have dried out.

She named the child Kioku, in hopes they would not forget the transient joy they had felt.

She’s taken up missions again, throwing herself into ninja work to stave off the sorrow eating at her heart. Fugaku does the same, working long tedious hours so he doesn't have the time to sit and think about what they’ve lost.

He’s twenty-three, and she’s eighteen, but already they look so ancient in their grief. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty-three, and already it feels like they’ve endured a thousand years.

Clouds of mourning block out the sunshine of Mikoto's happiness which Fugaku yearns to reflect. The sun is blotted out, so the moon is dark, also.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stillbirth warning. Sorry, guys ;~;

They thought their second attempt for a child would be better than their first.

When Mikoto first shares the news, they’re both afraid. Fugaku holds her close at night, and dreams about her when he isn’t there to. She is ill and tired much of the time, and when she’s awake she paces the floor in near-panic, arms wrapped protectively around her middle.

But three months pass. The nausea fades, and slowly she’s able to keep food down again. Her belly begins to swell and grow tender, painful; her breasts quickly follow suit.

She begins craving strange foods in strange combinations, and Fugaku does his best to bring her exactly what she wants; if she’s craving them, then they’re the sort of things the baby needs, after all (or so he’s been told). He’ll never forget the thrill that ran through him when, one night, he’d slipped his arms around Mikoto, and first felt the baby move.

It wakes Mikoto, who grins so brightly it seemed to light the room up even in the dead of night.

They hold each other tightly, nearly weeping for joy, and spend hours laying still together, laying their hands over her growing middle, murmuring encouragement to the child every time it moves.

Kushina keeps Mikoto company while Fugaku is away, and he’s grateful for that. It eases his mind, knowing his wife will not be alone when he’s gone for weeks at a time.

He holds these hopeful feelings close to his heart. Imagines what sort of person their child will grow up to be. He thinks, if it’s a girl, he wants to name her Atae. Uchiha Atae, their precious little daughter, sent to them after enduring such a terrible heartache.

(And the child will be a girl, he’s certain of it.)

He won’t return home for two more weeks. The day can’t come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

Mikoto can’t shake the awful feeling that’s been building in her stomach for the last three days. Kushina tries to soothe her, tries to comfort her as best she can, but nothing can quell her sudden bout of restlessness.

“Something’s wrong,” she says, repeatedly, like a mantra. “Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what.”

“It’s gonna be alright,” Kushina tries to reassure her, forcing herself to smile. “You just miss Fugaku-san. It’s gonna be okay. You’ll feel better when he gets home.”

Mikoto tries to believe her.

“You’re right,” she says, though she isn’t sure.

"Just hang in there- he'll be back tomorrow, remember?"

It’s easier with Kushina here- she’s somehow managed to snag time off work to keep her company until Fugaku returns. So she sleeps in fitful bursts with her head in her best friend’s lap, while Kushina babbles on about baby clothes and baby names and oh, how _cute_ will the baby be when it’s born?!

With her dearest friend so close to her, curled under the warmth of the kotatsu, Mikoto at least finds some semblance of rest.

 

* * *

 

She jolts awake some time past midnight, sweat beaded on her forehead, and the front of her dress soaked through.

She knows- before she’s even fully awake, she knows that that means. And her blood goes cold.

(Her water’s broken. Six and a half months in, and her water has broken.)

“Kushina!”

Her shrill cry jerks Kushina awake as well. She spots the wetness as well, and her eyes go wide.

“It’s too early,” she mutters in disbelief. “You can’t be- it’s too early-”

“Just- just help me up,” Mikoto mumbles, trying to keep calm. “We need to get to a doctor. Right now.”

Kushina tugs her to her feet, fumbling for shoes and coats to get them out the door. Mikoto follows her lead, gathering up whatever random things she think she might need at the hospital.

Then the pain hits.

Fierce, blinding, brilliant pain, cutting through her middle. She doubles over and collapses to the ground, clenching her jaw and clutching her middle.

“Mikoto!”

At this point, Kushina knows they won’t make it to a doctor in time. She looks around, paralyzed, helpless.

“I- Mikoto what should I do?”

Mikoto tries to speak, but the pain is too great. Kushina tries her best not to panic.

“I uh- I’m- I’m gonna go get hot water.”

The (albeit rather limited) training they’d received on impromptu childbirth at the Academy comes back to Kushina. She rushes to the kitchen, gets a pot of water on the stove, and fetches clean cloths to use. While the water is boiling, she helps Mikoto change out of her soiled dress into a soft cotton dressing gown. Mikoto moans in agony, and it breaks Kushina’s heart.

“You’re gonna be okay, I’m right here,” she murmurs, in a vain attempt at comfort.

(She has to stay calm, right? Has to be strong for her friend.)

“It’s not moving,” Mikoto sobs, clinging to her friend with one hand, the other pressed to the swell of her belly. “Kushina, it’s not moving-”

“Shh, just breathe for me, alright? Y-you should lay down, you’ll b-be more comfortable _‘ttebane.”_

Kushina stays right by Mikoto’s side, holding her hand, trying not to lose herself to fear. She only leaves to get more water or cloths to keep things clean and ease her pain.

“It hurts,” Mikoto whimpers.

And it _looks_ like it hurts. Cold sweat plasters dark hair to her forehead, her skin taking on a sallow gray color. She groans in agony, but doesn't allow herself to scream.

When the child finally comes, Kushina knows.

The baby is tiny. Quiet. Perfectly still.

She knows. And Mikoto knows.

“Oh no..."

“...Give her to me,” Mikoto mumbles, mindlessly reaching out.

(It's a girl, just like Fugaku said it would be.)

Kushina wraps the lifeless little body up, her vision blurring as she tries vainly to control her emotions.

Mikoto doesn't allow herself to cry.  She takes the tiny bundle into her arms, touching her little face, her little hands.

Too little. Too still.

“...I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers, even though she’s speaking to a corpse.

Her face is blank. Her voice hoarse. Kushina feels her heart crumble.

(Mikoto won't let herself cry, so Kushina will cry enough for both of them.)

 

* * *

 

When Fugaku is greeted by a sobbing Kushina at the village gates, he knows something is terribly wrong.

He feels his heart crumble when he enters his home. He sees the bloody rags in a pile in the corner, sees his wife clutching a motionless bundle of blankets. Hears Kushina say “I’m so sorry-” even though her words don’t register in his brain.

Mikoto doesn't allow herself to cry. Fugaku, however, can’t contain himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atae means gift, miracle, or godsend, if you were wondering :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikoto is taking the last chapter really hard.

Mikoto won’t touch him. Won’t hardly look at him. Hell, she barely even  _ speaks  _ to him for the first few months.

Fugaku has to admit- if only to himself- that it’s painful.

He wants to hold her, to tell her it’s going to be alright. But damn if he can do that when even reaching for her causes her to shrink away.

There are whispers around the village- Fugaku has heard them, and he’s certain Mikoto has heard them, too. People musing that his wife must be defective somehow, that she somehow must be doing something wrong, for things to keep going so wrong.

(If he ever finds out what lowlife from the hospital let their private business slip, he’s gonna tear their guts out with his bare hands.)

It goes on like this until Fugaku loses track of time, the days blending into each other; work all day, spending most of the night hanging around the bar with his friends, indulging in that grand tradition of drinking his feelings that his father and grandfather had done before him.

He sleeps on the floor in what was supposed to be the baby’s room, for those few restless hours before he has to work again.

(It’s still furnished like their child will still be there. Still decorated with cute wallpaper and stuffed animals and everything else a child could wish for. It hurts his heart so much to even look at it.)

His heart is broken into a thousand pieces, but he holds them together for the sake of his reputation. For the sake of his job and for his clan. Like a ghost fumbling through the motions of their past life, he drags himself through his daily grind like a good shinobi should.

This goes on for far too long- well over a year. Until, finally, he simply can’t bear it any longer.

He waits for Mikoto to return from her mission, drumming his fingers on the countertop to calm his ragged nerves. It doesn't stop his heart from leaping into his throat when the door opens.

“How long are you gonna ignore me for?” he asks.

Mikoto freezes up, but keeps her head forward so she can’t look at him directly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, in a flat tone of voice.

Fugaku manages, somehow, to keep himself calm.

“I don’t like being treated like a stranger by my own wife.”

Mikoto looks ready to stab something. She clenches her jaw, and says nothing.

Fugaku takes a deep breath.

“I just wish you’d talk to me. That’s what I’m here for.”

Mikoto’s tense expression softens a bit.

“...I-”

“I’m upset about what happened too. But I don’t want it to keep us apart for the rest of our lives.”

He wants to hold her, but he’s pretty sure she’d just shove him away. He grips the edge of the counter to keep grounded.

“Listen. I don’t give a shit about what anyone else says. Nothing that’s happened has changed how I feel about you, alright?”

Mikoto bites her bottom lip, and finally dares to turn toward him. She presses her hands to her abdomen, fighting against the tears welling up in her pretty eyes.

“What if we never-”

“-Then the two of us will have to be enough for each other.”

Fugaku takes her hand in both of his.

“Let everyone else say whatever they want. I don’t care about anyone else in the world.”

He bows his head, exhausted by such an earnest display of emotion.  He startles when Mikoto presses herself against him.

“...I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

For the first time in well over a year, Mikoto allows him to kiss her.

 

 

Six months later, Mikoto sits Fugaku down to tell him she's pregnant again.


	4. Itachi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title suggests- Itachi is born!

Their son is born in the middle of a storm.

They’d known the typhoon was coming; Fugaku had spent his entire shift helping to board up shop windows and ushering people to safety. He’d done the work mechanically, his mind off somewhere else.

Mikoto had been called into the hospital along with the other vulnerable people in the village, so an eye could be kept on her and the baby. Though the doctor had assured them it was just a formality, Fugaku can’t help but worry.

Finally, Konoha is secured, and Fugaku sprints the entire way to the hospital. Mikoto greets him with a kiss, worry creasing her brow as well.

“It’ll be alright,” he tries to reassure her. “We’ll go home as soon as the storm is past, alright?”

About an hour after his arrival, the rain begins. It beats on the roof and the boarded windows like a million tiny knives.  The wind starts up a low howl that picks up to more of a shriek. Thunder booms loud enough to make the entire building rattle.

Neither of them mind it much- they’ve sat through storms before.

The hospital bed is narrow; the two of them barely fit on it together. But they manage it, and Mikoto falls asleep before too long.

Fugaku lies awake awhile longer, resting his hands over Mikoto’s belly and smiling while he feels the baby move.

(Such a restless little thing. This baby is almost never still.)

One more month. They’ve only got a month to go, and they’ll finally have their child.

_ Not much longer now. Just be patient, little one. _

After awhile, drowsiness begins to take hold of him as well, the rain and thunder lulling him into a stupor. As he drifts off, he remembers that he and Mikoto haven’t even thought of a name for the baby yet.

 

He’s woken up some time later by Mikoto crying out in pain.

In an instant he’s on his feet, in the hall, grabbing the first medic he sees and practically dragging the poor woman into the hospital room. 

Adrenaline hums through his veins, his mind a foggy blur of the medic trying to be calm, and Mikoto’s cries of pain over the storm raging outside. At some point the power goes out, leaving them in the dark for maybe an hour before someone gets the backup generator going, and the lights flicker back on.

In what seems like a mere instant, he’s holding his child in his arms.

A son. He has a son.

The baby’s skinny limbs move weakly, but his little chest doesn't move. 

After a few agonizing seconds where Fugaku’s heart stops beating, the baby’s entire tiny frame heaves with a few wet coughs, and  _ finally  _ he begins to cry.

Gingerly, the medic takes the frail infant away to clean him of the blood and viscera, and wrap him in a little blue blanket.

“No-” Mikoto mumbles, when the medic tries to hand the child to her. “I can’t-”

She draws in on herself, away from this fragile little creature she’s just given birth to.

“Mikoto-sama, he’s your own son-”

The poor medic seems bewildered. But Mikoto adamantly refuses to even look at the baby.

So, Fugaku takes the child, while the medic leaves to get paperwork. 

The worst of the typhoon is finally past. The thunder grows ever more distant, the rain dying down to something softer. Fugaku sits in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs, cradling his newborn son.

Wrong. This is all wrong.

The child’s skin is paper-thin, and translucent- he can see the spiderweb of teeny veins running through his son. And he’s pretty sure, tiny as they are, that a baby’s hands shouldn’t be so cold.

The baby struggles to draw each breath, little face screwed up in discomfort. Fugaku is relieved when that medic returns with backup, and his child is finally attended to properly.

 

* * *

“I’m really sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Fugaku-sama. But we really do think it’ll be for the best.”

For the best?  _ For the best?  _ Fugaku feels like putting his fist through the hospital director’s skull for even having this suggested to him.

He’s well aware of the struggles that come with war. Of the shortages of medication and supplies that Konoha has endured for months now.  But to suggest that those resources would somehow be a  _ waste  _ on a  _ baby-  _ **_his_ ** baby-

“-Even if it were given proper treatment-”

“He,” Fugaku corrects, tersely. “My son is not an  _ it. _ ”

“...I’m sorry. Even if  _ he  _ were given proper treatment, quite frankly we’re not sure it’d do more than prolong the inevitable. We feel it’d be in his best interest for him to be at home and to let nature take its course.”

Fugaku glances down at the bundle of blankets in his arms. The baby has finally fallen asleep for now. 

Such a frail thing. So tiny and vulnerable. Just over a kilogram and a half.

He knows the man is probably right. He’s gotten a written list of everything wrong with his son. The anemia, his weak heart, his pathetically undeveloped lungs. It’s a small miracle he’s alive now.

He nods his understanding of the director’s words, unable to speak anymore.

 

Mikoto has recovered remarkably quickly, and demanded to return to active duty as soon as they would allow it. She still hasn’t held her son.

Her parents come to their home, to meet the unfortunate little child. They bring disinfectant and a myriad other things they say will help the baby. Kannon holds the sad bundle of blankets, looking heartbroken at the thin, raspy breaths which are all the child can manage, while the poor child struggles to nurse the bottle she’s offered to him.

(It’s good to have them there. His own mother is long gone, and his father- well, he wouldn’t be able to confide in his father.)

“...Do you have a name for him?” she asks Fugaku.

Fugaku hangs his head, feeling a bit ashamed.

“We uh...we hadn’t talked about that, yet.”

“Hm.” 

Kannon glances over at her husband, then at the baby.

“You know-” she muses, “my father wasn’t old at all when he died. I wasn’t even born yet. My mother was devastated.”

Fugaku blinks, unsure of why she’s telling him this.

“I think she’d be happy to know a piece of him will live on in this world,” she continues, gently rocking the baby while he fusses softly.

“Huh?”

Kannon manages a melancholy smile.

“His name was Itachi. I’d always thought it was a lovely name, too.”

Fugaku furrows his brow. Such a name- wouldn’t it be a bit ominous?

But, when the woman speaks that name, the child opens his eyes up for the first time.

Wide, dark eyes that peer right up at his grandmother curiously. 

“I think he likes that name,” Tenjin remarks.

Fugaku manages to smile a bit, for the first time in a week.

“Heh. I guess it’s settled. Itachi it is.”

Those wide eyes turn toward Fugaku, and he  _ swears  _ the boy is frowning at him.

And that makes him laugh for the first time in months.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Itachi being an odd name for a child-  
> In Japanese folklore, weasels are signs of misfortune and bringers of bad luck. So yeah- weird name to give a baby.


	5. Prove them wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fugaku is trying his best, okay?

“You’re not going to die.”

Fugaku repeats these words to his child like a mantra, during those long, lonely nights where worry keeps him awake. Maybe to convince himself, maybe just to drown out the strained, wheezing sounds Itachi makes every time he breathes.

Before this, he’s never so much as taken a sick day off. He’s always been the first to jump at a mission call, to run off straight to where the fighting is. But now, despite the disapproving looks, despite the scolding he got from his superiors about his timing, and the snickers behind his back, despite Mikoto’s parents offering to take the baby- he’s cashed in all his leave at once.

Before this, he’s never changed a diaper or made a bottle, or bathed an infant in his life. But he’s always been a quick learner, and picks it up with little trouble (though he imagines it’s easier to feed a baby when they don’t choke every time you try). He dresses Itachi in dolls’ clothes- the only things small enough to fit him, brought by Mikoto’s mother. Sits with him for hours on end sometimes, trying to be patient when Itachi struggles to eat, patting him on the back when he aspirates his formula for the fifth time that day.

Before Itachi was born, Fugaku thought he knew what fear truly felt like.

He realizes now just how wrong he was.

He spends his nights in the armchair in the nursery, with a plug-in heater on full, holding Itachi close against his chest to make sure he stays warm (the poor thing gets cold so, so easily). Fighting against the urge to sleep, lest the baby stop breathing after he nods off. Every now and then, he feels for that tiny, rapid heartbeat that proves his child is still alive. Any moment Itachi is out of his sight, Fugaku is half-convinced he’ll be dead by the time he turns back around.

Kushina frequently visits, bringing with her various herbs and medications she must have snuck in from missions. In particular, she often brings in a particular plant with small clusters of yellow flowers, which she shows Fugaku how to dry out and grind into a powder to mix into the baby’s bottles.

“They always did this for sick babies in my village,” she told him, with a hopeful sort of smile. “It’s supposed to help them breathe better.”

Whatever the plant is, she must be right about it- Fugaku notices Itachi breathes far easier after he’s had it.

(Fugaku is convinced that woman must be an angel- he’s certain Itachi would’ve died long ago, were she not risking her own freedom sneaking medicines in for him.)

It makes him sad, just a little, that Mikoto doesn't share Kushina’s faith in Itachi’s recovery.

He doesn't push her to hold Itachi, or really talk much to her at all- not that she’s home to talk to much, anyway. He knows her well, and he knows she’ll approach him when she’s ready. But not one moment before. The agony on her face every time she looks at their son is hard enough to bare without making her angry as well.

The Konoha gossip mill has started churning again, and he’s sure she’s heard it, too. He can’t escape the whispers on those rare occasions he leaves the house; snide remarks about him being a henpecked husband, chastising Mikoto for purportedly failing her duty as a wife and as a mother. Sneering at the both of them for wasting time on a defective child that’s doomed to die anyway- he makes a point of ignoring it all.

They don’t matter. Nobody else matters. Those people can say whatever they want- Fugaku has plenty on his mind without giving them the headspace.

At night, in the oppressive heat that he endures for his son’s sake, he repeats his mantra to his tiny, frail little firstborn. 

“Prove them wrong, Itachi,” he murmurs against the crop of soft, dark hair atop that tiny head. “I know you can.”

 

When Itachi is about two months old, Fugaku is finally certain that Itachi isn’t going to die.

His breathing comes easier, and he doesn't get cold quite so quickly. He’s finally,  _ finally  _ started putting on weight, and a little living color starts to warm his cheeks. Fugaku never thought he would be so relieved to be able to dress his child in proper baby clothes.

He still holds Itachi at night though, the last nagging fears in his head convincing him that he absolutely must.  But at the very least, he’s able to get some sleep.

 

Mikoto returns from a mission late, dirty and splattered with blood. What she really needs is a shower and some decent food- but something compels her to peer into the nursery first.

Fugaku is out cold, slumped in that plush armchair they’d gotten as a gift at their wedding and snoring softly. Itachi is asleep as well, laying against his father’s chest, sucking away on his pacifier.

(Not that Itachi ever really needs a pacifier- he hardly ever cries.)

It’s so...domestic. Mikoto’s heart aches at the sight. Her inner voice chastises her for being such a rotten mother.

She doesn't step into the nursery, for fear of disturbing them. She lets out a sigh as heavy as her heart, and walks away despite the pain it causes her.

Tomorrow, she tells herself. Tomorrow, she’ll try to fix everything she’s ruined.

Because Itachi will be there tomorrow. Fugaku has made sure of that.


	6. A mother's bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikoto is still trying her best. The Konoha rumor mill sucks ass.

When Itachi is about four months old, Fugaku is given the news that his father has died.

He knows what that means. The elders who deliver the news to him know what that means. And when he sits down to talk it over with Mikoto, she knows that it means, as well.

The next morning, Mikoto hands her official resignation in to the main office, ignoring the looks and whispers she gets along the way. Sheds a few bitter tears for what she’s leaving behind. She fixes her face and composes herself before she faces her husband again.

“...Give him to me,” she says, holding her arms out.

Fugaku hesitates for just a moment, and that hesitation tears her heart in two.

“I can’t hide anymore, Fugaku. Give him to me.”

With a sigh, Fugaku helps settle Itachi into Mikoto’s arms, tucking the blanket in around him so he doesn't get cold.

Mikoto holds the baby gingerly, like she’s worried she might hurt him. Itachi lets out a small, distressed sound, tiny hands reaching for his father. That small, sad sound rips her torn heart to shreds.

“...I’m sorry, baby,” she murmurs, mournfully. “You got stuck with a rotten mama, didn’t you?”

“That’s not true!” Fugaku insists. “He just- give him a little time, that’s all.”

Mikoto nods though she doesn't really believe it.

 

In the back of her mind, Mikoto always knew she’d end up as a mother one day.

Not that she’d ever particularly liked or wanted babies- growing up, she usually went off to train while the other girls played with dolls, or fantasized about their future husbands. But she understood- has always understood- that her role as the daughter of a prominent family within the clan was to carry on the Uchiha bloodline. She’s always known this.

-But that doesn't make it feel any less strange, any less alien, to be walking through the village with a baby in her arm. To spend her days  _ keeping house  _ and looking after a helpless little baby- especially one as helpless as Itachi.

(She’d tried, really tried, early on, to be happy with her role. Kept herself smiling and put on a show of being content, for Fugaku’s sake. But that was before- well, before everything had started going wrong.) 

She pretends not to hear the Konoha gossip mill as it gets going again. Keeps her head high and her eyes forward, stubbornly acting like she doesn't hear the nasty words spoken in hushed whispers behind her back. Snide remarks about both her and her child that make it harder to hold her tongue with each passing moment. Awful things said about her now six-month-old son who still struggles so very much.  


One day, she won't be able to hold her tongue any longer. But for now she can be silent.

 

Fresh coffee in hand, Mikoto idly watches Itachi, who’s laying on his back on a blanket on the floor. He’s struggling to roll over onto his front, little limbs working determinedly, little face screwed up in concentration. She wants to help, but she knows she’s supposed to let him figure these things out on his own.

(At least, that’s what the doctor said. But considering that he’s the same doctor who wanted to simply let Itachi die, she’s unsure how much she should trust him.)

She sits cross-legged on the floor to watch him better. Itachi turns his head to watch her, with wide, curious eyes. Vaguely, she wonders how much of what’s going on around him he really understands.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, when Itachi keeps his eyes fixed on her like he’s looking for something.

Itachi lets out a few content little gurgling noises in response. Mikoto can’t suppress the smile that creeps across her face. Itachi breaks out in a wide, toothless grin as well.

Mikoto doesn't realize she’s crying until the tears drip down her face.

Itachi makes a sad sound, as if to ask  _ what’s wrong? _ (Mikoto wishes she knew).

With a few determined huffs, Itachi manages to flop over onto his belly. He tries valiantly to pull himself closer to his mother, but simply doesn't have the strength in his tiny limbs. He falls over with an upset little huff big eyes still turned up at his mother.

There’s such a strange,  _ knowing  _ look on that little face. Mikoto almost laughs.

“I’m supposed to be the one worrying about  _ you _ ,” she reminds him.

The baby pulls a face.

“I’ll be alright, love,” she insists (although she feels weird talking to a baby as though he were grown up). “Just give me time.”


	7. Crybaby Fugaku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, we take a step back to see Fugaku before he earned the name "Wicked-Eye".

“Why’re you crying?”

Fugaku’s head snaps upward, startled by the soft voice that breaks through the persistent sound of falling rain.

The pretty girl who’s snuck up on him frowns, tilting her head and offering her umbrella to him. For a few moments, the steady tattoo of raindrops on the umbrella are the only sound.

He recognizes her, of course. Mikoto, the daughter of his father’s dearest friend. About five years younger than him, if he remembers right.

“I’m not-” he tries to lie, but Mikoto cuts him off, her frown deepening into a scowl.

“-Yes you are.”

Fugaku feels his face grow hot- he turns his head away from her.

“You’re always crying. Everybody knows it. Don’t lie.”

(She’s not wrong. Fugaku found himself in this position far more often than he’d like.)

“...Why do you care anyway?” Fugaku mumbles, humiliation staining his voice.

“Cause I wanna know why.”

The sound of splashing, when a stray cat scurries out of the deserted streets seeking shelter.

“...Are you crying about the bruise on your face?”

Fugaku tenses up, his hand climbing up to the deep, painful mark his father left on his cheek.

“Your dad did that, didn’t he?”

An ice-cold hand seizes the boy’s heart. Mikoto’s much smaller, far more delicate hand reaches out to cup his cheek, sadness in her wide, black eyes.

“My dad told me your dad is mean- but I wish he wouldn’t hit you.”

-And, he’s crying once again. This time without even the rain to hide his shame.

( _Crybaby Fugaku’s bawling again,_ he hears phantom voices mock. _What else do you expect?_ )

“Why does he do that to you?” Mikoto mutters, the injustice tugging at her heart.

_“I swear to god, if you don’t shut up I’ll give you something to cry about!”_

“...I don’t know,” Fugaku lies.

Mikoto very obviously doesn't believe him, but she doesn't speak up to call him out. Out of nowhere, she presses a feather-light kiss against his bruised cheek.

“I don’t mind if you cry,” she says, with a gentle sort of smile.

It’s an open, warm-hearted gesture that, if only for a moment, makes the world seem okay. And, just for a moment, he remembers what his father had said, the first time he’d ever met Mikoto.

_You’d better learn to like her, boy. You’ll be marrying her one day._

For the first time since he heard those words four years ago, he decides that might not be such a bad thing.

“Come on- I’ll ask my mom if you can have a towel and some tea, ‘kay?”

Fugaku doesn't bother even pretending to argue with her.

 

If Fugaku could sink through the floor and disappear from view forever, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Anything would be better than that pitying expression Mikoto’s mother is giving him. Since he can’t do that, though, he settles for clutching his mug of tea in one hand, and the ice pack on his face in the other. Refusing to say a word.

Perhaps she knows trying to ask about his injuries would be pointless, so she merely joins them around the kotatsu with some onigiri rather than inquire after his welfare. Mikoto’s brow knits together, her eyes darting around like she’s searching for something to say.

“Hey Fucchan, when do you get your headband?”

“Huh?”

“You’re graduating, right? So when’s the ceremony?”

“Uh- it’s tomorrow morning,” Fugaku answers, after taking far too long to recall.

“Mama, can I go see Fucchan graduate?” Mikoto asks, practically bouncing in anticipation.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” her mother answers, with a light laugh.

“You don’t gotta-”

“But I wanna!”

Fugaku frowns.

“You sure? It’ll be boring.”

Mikoto giggles, innocent and cheerful.

“I’m happy being wherever Fucchan is!” she chirrups.

 

True to her word, when Fugaku makes that walk to receive his village headband, Mikoto is standing in the crowd, waving at him.

His father isn’t there. But he still holds his head up high, because the one who matters came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love y'all :D


	8. My Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: post-partum depression and infant illness

Fugaku has been gone for about a week now- and it’ll be a week longer before he’s back again. And because Mikoto seems to have been cursed with the world’s worst luck, Itachi has come down with a nasty chest infection that’s kept the two of them up for the last two nights. And nothing she tries can console her poor, ill infant son. He refuses to eat, refuses to sleep. Refuses to do much more than cough and cry, really.

Mikoto has endured a lot in her lifetime. Overnight missions in horrid conditions that left grown men begging for their mothers. Torture at the hands of enemy shinobi absolutely determined to break her. Days without food when supplies had run out. And yet, this- the heartrending sounds from her sick little boy- are just too much for her to bear.

So, she finds herself standing in front of her best friend’s apartment, in the middle of the night, out in the pouring rain, desperately hoping Kushina will answer the door.

She nearly sobs in relief when Kushina pokes her head out, still half-asleep and groggy.

“Miko?” she mumbles. “What’s-?”

Kushina receives the answer to her unfinished question when a violent coughing fit wracks Itachi’s tiny body. She ushers Mikoto out of the rain and goes to put coffee on without saying another word. Itachi whimpers, squirming in his mother’s arms trying to find a more comfortable position.

“Why didn’t you come over sooner?” Kushina gently scolds, taking the baby from Mikoto’s arms and handing her a mug of coffee instead.

Mikoto only shrugs, staring into the coffee’s milky depths like she wants to drown in them.

“You don’t have to handle everything on your own, you know. I’m still here.”

In response, Mikoto finally breaks down and cries. Sensing his mother’s distress, Itachi starts to cry as well, reaching his tiny little arms toward her.

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” Kushina murmurs, though it’s unclear which of them she’s comforting. 

Awoken by the noise, Kushina’s fiance emerges from their bedroom, rubbing his blue eyes blearily. When he sees the scene awaiting him in the living room, he doesn't say a word of protest, even though he’s barely gotten home from a month away. He also doesn't complain when Kushina shoves the baby into his arms so she can mix something up in the kitchen.

“Open his mouth for me,” she orders, holding a syringe of some pearlescent liquid in her hand.

Minato obeys, despite Itachi making his displeasure quite plain. Kushina delivers the medication with a steady hand, then holds Itachi’s chin with a finger  so he can’t spit it back out.

“Quit your complaining- I’m trying to help you,” she tells the baby, though in a light, almost playful tone. “You’ve been giving your mama a real hard time, but I’m not having it.”

Whatever she’d just forced down Itachi’s throat, the effect is immediate. The baby’s breathing becomes less ragged, and he visibly relaxes in Minato’s arms. Kushina grins.

“What’d I tell you? You really should trust me more, Itacchan.”

Mikoto feels rather useless, but she’s far too exhausted to do much more than curl up on the sofa and nurse her coffee. So Kushina and Minato take turns holding Itachi, and attempting to make small talk with her.

After maybe a half hour of this, the baby starts to fuss again, pawing at Minato’s chest like he’s looking for something. He can’t help a laugh.

“I uh- think he’s hungry,” he mutters.

Mikoto sighs, sets down her mostly-empty mug, and holds her arms out to take Itachi back. Minato politely turns his head away when she undoes her pajama top.

For the first time in two days, Itachi finally latches on, and starts to eat.

Mikoto cries once more, shoulders shaking violently.

“...Minato, honey, you should go back to bed.”

Kushina’s dire tone of voice immediately tells the man that it’s not just a suggestion. He mutters something to excuse himself, and rushes to make an exit.

When the bedroom door has shut again, Kushina turns violet eyes toward her dear friend.

“Miko. Talk to me.”

Mikoto only manages a small sound of distress. With a sigh, Kushina crosses the room and kneels down on the floor in front of her.

“C’mone. We’re friends  _ ‘ttebane. _ You can tell me anything.”

Cradling her infant son in one arm, Mikoto tries to dry her eyes on the other sleeve.

“I…”

She shakes her head.

“...It’s my fault he’s like this,” she finally says, at last voicing the thought that’s been weighing on her mind for months. 

“What?! Miko, that’s-”

“-If I’d been better- if I’d just-”

“-What exactly could you have done?!” Kushina demands, her temper flaring. “Miko, you don’t get to choose whether a baby’s born early or gets sick! How the hell is it your fault  _ dattebane _ ?!”

Mikoto bites her lip to stop herself from crying any more. She looks down at the frail little creature nursing at her breast- the poor, frail little creature  _ she’d _ given birth to.

“...I wanted him to die,” she confesses, in a hoarse whisper. “I prayed that he’d die in his sleep so he didn’t have to live like this. What sort of horrible mother does that to their own baby?”

“Miko-”

“I didn’t even hold him for  _ months, _ Kushina! While Fugaku was at home taking care of him all on his own! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“Miko, for god’s sake cut that out!”

Kushina leaps onto her feet, anger emanating off her.

“None of this is your fault and if you say that again I’ll hit you!”

Mikoto laughs, but her laugh rings hollow. All Kushina can do is gather her broken friend and her child into her arms and hold them tight, hoping that will help, at least a little.

  
  
  



End file.
